The Crimson Thread
by DustAndBones
Summary: "They said that saying goodbye is the hardest thing one would ever do." There was a reason behind why Holy Roman Empire said that they would meet again after war, instead of saying goodbye when he parted with Italy. (Completed One-Shot)


_They say there's a storm coming to the glass sky,  
_

_It's probably a strong one._

* * *

They said that saying goodbye is the hardest thing one would ever do.

Now _he_ knew it was true.

* * *

_"__We'll see each other again after the war."_

The night after Holy Roman Empire bid his goodbye to Italy, he already knew he wasn't going to come back. He might be small, but he was smart enough to know chaos when he walked into one. Holy Roman Empire had grown so big and strong. But being big had it own perks.

Italy told him about this once. His grandfather was also so big that he fell into ruin.

_"__I don't want you to be like Grandpa Rome…"_

But Holy Rome was already like him.

Even when he closed his eyes for sleep, to get ready for battle he had to face tomorrow morning, he could hear everything; the sound of war, of pain, of destroy, of cries, of hopelessness...

He knew chaos when he walk into one.

He knew death when it comes to him.

But Holy Rome had no regret.

He lived long enough. He lived happily. Wasn't that all that matters in the very end?

He opened his eyes and left his bed for his most prized possession; a small painting he made of Italy. Right now, the person he liked and loved the most in the world was probably sleeping, just like in the picture. The thought bring smile to Holy Rome's face. At least Italy could sleep peacefully… at least he would be able to grow bigger and stronger. He would be able to go to the future, a place where Holy Rome wouldn't be exist anymore.

A beautiful, beautiful future when war will be no more and countries like Italy can bloom as beautiful as they want to.

Before Holy Rome knew it, he was crying, sobbing like a little boy he actually was.

It was true that he was hoping that Italy was now sleeping soundly, but the bigger part of him wished that Italy was somehow awake, sensing Holy Rome's sadness and despair, praying that he would return soon. No matter how foolish the wish was, Holy Rome couldn't stop wishing it, repeating Italy's name as he did.

War would always make people feel sentimental at one point or another. The strange thing was that even though Holy Rome knew that he would never return to his beloved Italy, he was content. He never said goodbye to Italy. One could never say goodbye to people one love the most. _Never_. It was plain impossible. It would be too hard to be done…

_Italy. I'm so sorry. I love you very much._

_I love you so very much._

_I love you too much that I can't even say goodbye to you._

_I'm sorry, Italy._

* * *

_The glass sky cracked_

_The world has begun to end_

_Everything but me is blown away as if nothing_

* * *

Holy Rome knew death when he saw one.

He saw France. He saw Napoleon. He saw the end. He saw his long, prosperous life flashing before his eyes.

He saw Italy.

He then saw his army getting defeated, him being surrounded by countries that wanted to tear him apart. Holy Rome knew he couldn't do anything. So he just lay there, waiting for oblivion. He saw this coming. He knew that his end was approaching.

He knew that he would never return to Italy.

He couldn't move, even though he wanted to go home to Italy so bad… to eat cookies Italy baked for him… to see each other again after war… to go to that peaceful future together...

_I'm so sorry, Italy._

He could never see the person he liked the most in the world ever again.

Sadness and happiness engulfed him in a strange wave of pain. The pain would never end—not until he was finally destroyed. He kept seeing Italy. He wanted to apologise to Italy. He kept thinking of Italy.

So "Italy" became Holy Roman Empire's last word before he ceased into nothing but history.

* * *

_Ah, I was talking in delirium _

_I called your name, repeating it like a spell_

* * *

More than two hundred years later, Italy woke up in cold sweat and tears on his eyes. The nightmare where that person dies decided to haunt him again tonight.

He was in the dark; scared, trembling, and crying—but he was alive. Unlike that person, unlike that _country_… he was alive.

But the longing never stopped.

Neither did the loving.

* * *

_Goodbye_

_I won't see you again_

_But you're tied to my heart_

_By a crimson thread_

_Pinky promise_

_It's okay_

_Even if you trick me with gentle lies_

_Goodbye_

* * *

**Author's Note: As you might already guessed by now, I'm a sucker for angst and tragedy. I'm sorry. I'm a also a sucker for Italy's past with Holy Roman Empire. I mean, Italy is always so happy and all, but we all know that he had pretty rough childhood. Even if one chose to see his relationship with Holy Rome as non-romantic, it's still pretty freaking painful to lost such a close friend forever.**

** I kind of feel like most people are like that- that at some point in their life, something happened to them and their attitude changes to cope up with that life-changing moment. Italy grew up to be a happy person slash country, but do you see how he always want to avoid war and keep his friends close? That aside, this piece is hugely inspired by amazing song by Plastic Tree, titled "Makka no Ita" (hence the title).  
**

**If you're feeling angst-y and want to cry over something, go listen to it.**


End file.
